desire
'The truth is that men can have several sorts of pleasure. The true pleasure is the one for which they abandon the other. But the latter, if it is apparent, or rather if it alone is apparent, may put people off the scent of the other, reassure or mislead the jealous, create a false impression. And yet, all that is needed to make us sacrifice it to the other is a little happiness or a little suffering. Sometimes a third category of pleasures, more serious, but more essential, does not yet exist for us, its potential existence betraying itself only by arousing regrets and discouragements'. --Proust, Soddom and Gomorrah.
Ah, but the pleasure inherent in abandoning one pleasure for another. Not the prioritisation of a pleasure as enacted, nor a comparison of pleasures as, in fact, comparable on any scale. Not the added sweetness of the loss created by the choice to follow the other path, thereby altering the terms upon which the decision was first made. Rather, that delectable moment in between the renunciation of the one and the taking up of the other. A space surrounded by 'pleasures', a delicate transition rich with the knowledge of pleasure past and pleasure future. A precarious moment, as well, in the possible breakdown of the transition, steeped in the knowledge that the pleasure renounced in favour of the pleasure sought may well have been a proverbial bird in hand. Thus an element of regret, as well, not only for the loss itself of the past pleasure, but for the loss of the decision to be made. The regret which, in turn, can only magnify the focus, the construction of fantasy in the anticipation of the (chosen) future pleasure. Perhaps a pleasure chosen, then, for the moment in between, and not for itself...
Proust is speaking of misdirection, here, and indirectly of Charlus's homosexuality - a comment on his 'passing', of sorts. And it's not particularly a mind-blindingly passage of genius. But something resonated. And though this may be absolute rubbish, it's better than what I was doing just before I wrote it...
Ah, but the pleasure inherent in abandoning one pleasure for another. Not the prioritisation of a pleasure as enacted, nor a comparison of pleasures as, in fact, comparable on any scale. Not the added sweetness of the loss created by the choice to follow the other path, thereby altering the terms upon which the decision was first made. Rather, that delectable moment in between the renunciation of the one and the taking up of the other. A space surrounded by 'pleasures', a delicate transition rich with the knowledge of pleasure past and pleasure future. A precarious moment, as well, in the possible breakdown of the transition, steeped in the knowledge that the pleasure renounced in favour of the pleasure sought may well have been a proverbial bird in hand. Thus an element of regret, as well, not only for the loss itself of the past pleasure, but for the loss of the decision to be made. The regret which, in turn, can only magnify the focus, the construction of fantasy in the anticipation of the (chosen) future pleasure. Perhaps a pleasure chosen, then, for the moment in between, and not for itself...
Proust is speaking of misdirection, here, and indirectly of Charlus's homosexuality - a comment on his 'passing', of sorts. And it's not particularly a mind-blindingly passage of genius. But something resonated. And though this may be absolute rubbish, it's better than what I was doing just before I wrote it...
posted by itinerarium at 3:08 PM
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